Tainted Love
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: Sequel to Twisted Morals, Sherlock and Jim are sharing John but it's not enough, they both what the full package. Unfortunately for them, John has his own plans.
1. Chapter 1

**Tainted love**

Summary: Sequel to Twisted Morals, Sherlock and Jim are sharing John but it's not enough, they both what the full package. Unfortunately for them, John has his own plans.  
Warnings: Blood, violence, sex, swearing  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: The characters belong to BBC Sherlock and Arthur Conan-Doyle  
**AN-** Wow, it's been a long time. Thanks to SalconeDestrivina who reminded me about this sequel.

* * *

"Johnny! Time to wake up!" John groaned and rolled over on the bed, a signal that he would get up when he was fucking ready to get up. Sadly, the worlds only consulting criminal was not taking no for an answer. The duvet was pulled from the bed and the soldier was pounced on and _God when did the git get naked_?

"Jim, get off!" John yelled as his hands were forced above his head. Sherlock had gone out of a case, he no longer needed both men with him to sleep most of the time but he did have bad nights when Jim and Sherlock all curl up on Sherlock's king-sized bed with him and gripped him tightly until he finally falls asleep. On those nights, the two geniuses would stay with him all night to chase away the nightmares. But that didn't mean that Jim had become the model citizen or that Sherlock had calmed down.

Jim savagely bit the doctor's neck while his hands worked to tie John's wrists to the top of the bed.  
"I thought you wanted me to get up." John groaned. Moriarty chuckled deeply.  
"You didn't listen to me. You know I hate it when I'm ignored." He growled, divesting the soldier of his pyjama bottoms. The doctor struggled to break free but a hand on his chest stopped him moving.  
"You know how this works, Honey, the more you fight it the more it hurts." Jim cooed, lifting the blond doctors legs onto his shoulders.  
"Boss?" John sighed in relief as he heard Moran's voice. God he hated that man and by hate, he would happily tear every limb off the vile creature slowly, soak them in strong acid then burn the remnants.

Sebastian Moran felt pretty much the same way about John. He despised the man who had taken away from him the only thing he had, by getting him dishonourably discharged. The only thing that was stopping him from conducting his revenge was his boss, who had not left them alone in a room since he allow Moran to have his way with the doctor all those months ago. Sebastian was sitting on his hands and waiting patiently for his chance, though he knew that the chances of both Moriarty and Holmes slipping up, leaving Watson vulnerable, were dwindlingly low at best. Despite all this, right at this moment the hitman was the greatest person on the face of the earth to John.

Moriarty heard his sigh and narrowed his eyes.  
"What do you want?" He hissed, not looking at the door.  
"You've got a client." The one thing that both John and Sherlock objected to was clients in the flat. They would not allow Jim to conduct any of his business while at 221b. Which meant that the consulting criminal would have to travel back to his house, a building now inhabited by Sebastian.  
"Well I'm busy." Moriarty replied, lining himself up.  
"They don't want to wait, Sir. Actually, they were rather insistent." The doctor shook his head furiously as he realised that Jim was going ahead with his original plan.  
"This won't take _long._" One the last word, Moriarty thrust into John, sheathing himself to the hilt. The doctor was unable to hold back the howl. He wasn't given the chance to get used to the feeling as the criminal started to move in and out of him, increasing the speed until John was yelling an endless stream of curses.

* * *

When the doctor came back to his sense, he was panting heavily with Moriarty gently cleaning himself off.  
"Try not to walk for a little while, okay Sweetie?" He cooed. John huffed a laugh.  
"Great advice, now untie me." He replied. Jim smiled darkly and him and the soldier groaned. "Oh come on. Just let me go." He whined. Moriarty patted his head and slipped off the bed.  
"But you look so helpless. You know how it gets me when I see you like this. Covered in me and not able to do a damn thing about it." He answered, walking into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he returned immaculately dressed. He took one look at John and rolled his eyes before moving to untie him.  
"I expect some treat tonight for showing mercy." He warned.  
"Piss off." The soldier scoffed. Moriarty kept his hands on the rope holding John to the bed.  
"I could leave you like that all day then fuck you again when I get back for the cheek of it." He threatened. John bit his lip.  
"Just untie me." He sighed defeatedly. Moriarty grinned and undid the rope, massaging the doctor's wrists when they were released. The soldier glared at him, not making a remark in case he found himself reattached to the bed.  
"I think a blowjob would be nice, haven't had one in a while." Jim suggested with a wink before he slipped off the bed and walked out the door. John glared at the door for many minutes before rolling out of bed and making his way into the shower.

With a towel around his waist, John walked out of the bedroom to get himself a cup of tea. He once the tea was made, he padded back into the living room. Just as he was about to sit down in his chair, the doctor realised that he wasn't alone. Jim was watching him from his own chair while the sofa had two people on it. Two unknown people. Moran stood behind them. John clenched his jaw and shot Moriarty a look.  
"You know the rules." He hissed with narrowed eyed. Jim smiled sheepishly.  
"But Johnny, you know that the rules are only in place when Shirley is in the house. I don't see him here, do you?" He asked, giving his clients an apologetic glance. "Besides, go back to bed. I know that it must be _killing _you to walk. I'll even bring you breakfast when I've finished. My treat." John pinched the bridge on his nose. When Sherlock found out, he was going to go batshit.  
"One hour. If they're not out by then I swear to God I am locking you out of the bedroom for at least a month. And if you don't think I can, think Sherlock. I'm sure he would love to keep you from me for a whole month." Without waiting for a reply, John stomped back into the bedroom and slammed the door. Jim waited a moment then smiled at his clients.  
"Sorry about that, he's rather annoyed that I tied him up this morning. Soldier boys; they're so hard to control. Anyway, as you were saying?"

* * *

John lay back on the bed and waited. He was going to give that bastard one hour exactly and then he was going to lock the bedroom door and keep the key in the lock. After that, he was going to ring Sherlock and tell him, not that he wouldn't know just by walking in, but he seemed to get more annoyed if John told him. The doctor also decided that they were now even and there was no way that Moriarty was getting a 'treat'. God, that man was insufferable. Despite himself, the soldier chuckled as he realised that he often said the same thing about Sherlock. Both his geniuses were insufferable and he swore they were out to kill him.

Speaking of killing him, he hadn't heard from Mycroft since the man kidnapped him, four months ago. The physical injuries had long since healed but John found his insides quivered whenever he thought about the consulting detectives' brother. That didn't mean that he would become a wreck if he came face to face with the man, oh no, if he _ever _saw Mycroft again he was going to tear the man apart. He was going to break Mycroft Holmes' mind in two. John looked back at the clock. Fifty minutes had past. Telling himself that it wasn't a bad thing to spend nearly an entire hour plotting how to kill someone, the soldier got up and decided to find some clothes.

Just as the doctor found a clean pair of pants, the bedroom door opened. John turned round to find the consulting criminal prowling towards him.  
"Don't do that, Johnny." He admonished, eyes blazing. The soldier gulped and slipped the garment on. There was no way he was going to let Jim fuck him twice in one morning without bloody well earning it.  
"Piss off. You know I hate Moran and I swear when Sherlock gets back I-" John's rant was cut off when the criminal's hand clenched round his jugular.  
"You disobeyed me, pet." He growled. "I thought you knew better than that." The doctor felt his vision swimming as he struggled to take a breath.

Just as John was about to pass out, the tension released and he sucked in air greedily, Moriarty's hand was still around his throat, threatening to squeeze again. The soldier knew exactly what the psychopath wanted. He wanted him to beg, to plead forgiveness, only this time it wasn't going to happen. John held Moriarty's gaze and forced himself to breathe through his nose. Jim raised an eyebrow.  
"I'm waiting Johnny." He sing-songed shrilly.  
"Then you'll be waiting a while. I've had enough, Jim. You don't respec-" The hand closed back round his windpipe and John stilled immediately. The Irishman was now glaring at him, the fury building up.  
"Of course I don't respect you, I don't need to." He snapped harshly. His whole demeanour softened suddenly and he gently cupped John's cheek. "I need you, Johnny. I get restless when I'm not with you. I worry constantly about you. You're the key to my mental wellbeing but that doesn't mean you are worth of my respect."

The doctor gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what Jim was saying, that he was more an object than a person.  
"Well I won't apologise. I did nothing wrong and, God help me, I refuse to be bossed about by you any longer." Moriarty's hand inched back to John's neck but before it got there, the man was forcefully yanked away. The doctor realised that he'd been so focused on the criminal that he hadn't notice Sherlock enter.  
"I think our lovely John has made himself quite clear, don't you? Why don't you leave? Before I wring your neck for bringing the filthy dregs of society into _my_ house." The detective growled darkly. Jim wasn't phased by his threatening in the slightest. He looked back to John then sighed.  
"I'll be seeing you very soon then, darling. Daddy has work to do." With that, Moriarty slipped past Sherlock and walked out of the door in a swaying of hips.

* * *

"Did he hurt you?" John blinked, and turned to Sherlock.  
"Hmm?" He asked, wincing as he remembered how much his flatmate hated to repeat himself.  
"Did. He. Hurt. You?" The detective repeated, punctuating each word. John subconsciously rubbed his neck.  
"Not really, I've had worse." He replied. Sherlock grunted and removed the hands to get a good look at the doctors neck. It was bruised but it definitely wasn't the worst he'd seen on his partner. One time, a client had double crossed Moriarty and he flew into a rage. Of course, John was who he went to. The soldier had decided to spend the next week inside the flat, not going outside for anything. Even with an escort. Unfortunately, Lestrade got rather worried about him and came over to see if everything was okay. He nearly filed a domestic abuse report when he saw the damage to John. The doctor stopped him and said that he had been mugged, that it wasn't Sherlock. The DI didn't believe him in the slightest but when the doctor begged him not to do anything, he agreed on the basis that should it happen again he would not only file a report but make sure that it was followed through post haste and have Sherlock arrested. The soldier had nodded stiffly, still adamant that it wasn't Sherlock who had hurt him. Greg Lestrade knew about his and Sherlock's relationship, he just didn't know that John was still with that Jim fellow who was there when he burst in on a 'drugs bust' and that Jim was actually Moriarty (though he had had his suspicions about that for quite some time).

While reminiscing on all the reasons why he was going to murder Moriarty as soon as John was able to be without the bastard, Sherlock scrutinised every inch of John, cataloguing every slight bruise, every mark. He would make sure that each blemish on his partners skin did not go unpunished

* * *

.

**AN- **Well first chapter is up! Happy days. I will try to update once a week.

B  
x


	2. Chapter 2

**AN-** And the next chapter is here! Yay!

* * *

"I want you to come with me." Sherlock stated, slipping into his coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck. John blinked.

"I thought you'd solved the case." He said dumbly. He had been allowed to get dressed in his own time, no throwing clothes at him and demanding that he was ready within the minute, so he thought that he would be able to just be with Sherlock for the day. The detective rolled his eyes.

"No. They were taking the body back to the Yard, I came to pick you up." He replied. John nodded, the case would always come first and he hadn't been dragged along since… Well for a very long time. It would be nice to watch Sherlock strut his stuff.

"Why are we still here then?" John asked with the beginnings of a crinkly-eyed grin. The detective's own grin was almost instant as he grasped the doctor's wrist firmly, with a slight wince as he hoped he hadn't bruised the doctor himself, before pulling the man out of the flat, hailing a cab the moment he stepped onto the pavement.

* * *

John felt a flicker of anticipation as he stood outside of Scotland Yard. If Sherlock felt the same thing, which was doubtful, he hid it well as he dragged his blogger through the doors. They were greeted almost immediately and joined on the walk down to the morgue by Lestrade, who peered at John with a gruff misdemeanour showing that he wasn't very happy about something. The soldier kept his eyes facing forward and prayed that the man had just had a bad day. He knew that this wasn't the case the moment they reached the entry to the morgue.

"You go on ahead, Sherlock. I need to ask Dr Watson's opinion on something." Lestrade said calmly. Sherlock narrowed his eyes ever so slightly but did as asked, knowing that he would get his answers out of John later. The answers which needed explaining anyway, of which there were few.

The doctor watched his partner leave through the doors and instantly felt a chill, like he had taken all his clothes off. He felt vulnerable.

"Now John," The DI began, licking his lips nervously. "I know you can remember our last conversation, yes? Well I can't help but notice those bruises on your neck, the ones which look a lot like strangulation marks. Care to explain how they appeared on you?" He asked, expectant of a reply. John clenched his jaw.

"It wasn't Sherlock." He replied adamantly. Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

"Well who else would you allow to strangle you? You're a strong man, John, I don't doubt that you would be able to fight me off should you want to. I can help you, John. You just need to let me in." He pleaded. John sighed.

"It's not Sherlock." He repeated. "It's… someone else. I am not telling you who only that I know what I'm doing. Really, I'm fine. I suffered far worse than this." Lestrade was about to reply when a shout came from inside the morgue.

"John! Get in here now!" John heard the underlying layer of panic in the voice, though Greg only heard a dominating command which strengthened his belief and finalised his decision to check that the consulting detective wasn't attacking the good doctor.

Bursting into the room, John's eyes scanned until they fell upon Sherlock who shifted restlessly until the doctor was right by his side. Once in reach, the detective gripped his partner tightly round the waist and refused to let him go.

"What do you notice about this body?" He asked. John looked at the cadaver, the man had all the signs that he had suffered from hypothermia before death-whether it was the cause was uncertain. John shrugged.

"Seems like just an ordinary body." He replied, hypothermia wasn't _that_ uncommon, after all.

"I suppose you wouldn't have been able to see his face." Sherlock muttered. "It was designed for you not to see the people guarding you." The soldier froze.

"He was my guard?" John asked in a breathy whisper, unsure if they wanted the DI to hear them. Sherlock nodded and latched a hand onto the sheet covering the rest of its body.

"That's not the worst of it." He stated as he pulled the cover off to show the multitude of pre-death injuries that scarred the man's white skin. The man had been clothed in his uniform before being dumped so the scars hadn't been visible until they brought him back.

"Torture." John said numbly, his head swimming. The detective shook him lightly.

"It's not your fault." The doctor nodded, he knew rationally that it wasn't his fault he didn't harm this man and he certainly didn't kill him but that didn't stop the irrational guilt from squirming inside of him. _He's dead _because_ of you. _John gulped and fought to keep his expression level.

"There's nothing we can do." He realised, speaking his thoughts out loud. "We won't be able to trace this back to your brother and even if we had some sort of proof, we wouldn't be able to get him with it. Plus he's your brother-" Sherlock cut him off sharply.

"He's no brother of mine."

Sherlock told Lestrade that the man had obviously had a fall out with someone, probably due to the large amount of dept he owed to various shady characters. There was no way to tell conclusively which of these characters killed him or even which were involved. The DI was surprised to find that the consulting detective left it at that, not offering any other means of explanation as he dragged Dr Watson out of the room. The doctor shot Lestrade a look as he saw the clenched jaw. The inspector was still watching everything Sherlock did and grabbing his flatmate to drag him out was yet another thing on the list which would flag up on the list of warning signs. John knew the warning signs, he was a doctor after all.

* * *

On the walk back, Sherlock refused to take a cab for some reason- John gathered that there had to be a reason because Sherlock never did anything on a whim, they were tailed by a black car which John didn't even turn to see because he knew that should it be one of Mycroft's, he would mostly likely be frozen to the spot. He found it hard to even say the older siblings name so knowing he was being followed by… by _him _would send him over the edge. He was a soldier at heart and by God if he felt threatened by that bastard he would attack. At least by not turning around he could pretend that Jim had sent a car to trail after them, or perhaps a terrorist group who wanted some leverage with the government.

"John." Sherlock's voice was low, barely a whisper, and his mouth was parted so he could speak without moving his lips. "When I say run." The soldier stopped himself from tensing his legs and nodded his head ever so slightly. The detective grasped hold of his doctor's hand.

"Run."

They fled down back alleys and over fences, doubling back so many times that John wasn't quite sure where they were going half the time. When they came out in an alley way that John didn't even know existed about two minutes from the flat, the doctor had to bite back a laugh. It was beginning to feel just like their first case together, when Sherlock had dragged him up and down street after street to 'prove a point'. It seemed that the detective was thinking the same thing as he grinned like a lunatic, retrieving his key and fitting it into the lock. Inside the flat, they started laughing wildly, neither quite sure what was so funny. That was until Sherlock looked to see a man sat in a chair which faced the door, hands folded across his lap and an expression which was not in the least bit amused. Beside him, John gripped his hand tightly, trying to hide the utter dread which was coursing through his veins in the place of blood.

The doctor gulped and forced himself to walk forward, eyeing Sherlock as a sort of safety rope. Mycroft glared at the man for many moments before turning his attention to his younger sibling.

"I had hoped you would understand what I doing was for your benefit." The government official stated icily. "This creature is no good for you, I should never have let him come close." John bit his lip and tried to ignore the unwelcome visitor and more importantly the rage building up inside of him. Sherlock crossed the room in a matter of milliseconds and wrapped his arms around his partner possessively.

"No, you did it because you're a controlling bastard. I should have never let John near _you_. You were going to kill him! What did he do to warrant that?" The detective hissed. The corners of Mycroft's mouth flickered into a smirk then back out again.

"He went gallivanting off with Moriarty. Because of him, you can't focus on doing the right thing. You don't want to hurt your _precious_ John so you won't get rid of the man who will be the ruin of you. Though, at this point, there are two men who will be the ruin of you." He answered coldly.

"He was kidnapped."

"The first time, perhaps."

"Jim manipulates people."

"I can see that."

"He loves me." At this, the elder Holmes brother scoffed.

"Out of the two of you, who is in his bed more? And by that I don't mean sleep." He asked.

Sherlock didn't have an answer, he knew what his sibling was getting at but that bypassed the point entirely. John _loved_ him, he liked Moriarty at times-it was impossible not to have some good feelings for the man when he twisted himself into everything and made himself more important that the oxygen the blond soldier breathed. And besides, the scrapes on the doctor's wrists were enough to show that he didn't have a choice in what happened in the bed (and out of the bed) when the criminal was involved. Sherlock didn't have to restrain John. When they had sex, which wasn't as often-he'd grant-but that was because he didn't have as high a sex drive as most and they both knew that the case would always come before pleasure, it was mind-blowing. It was amazing and John seemed to know every single place which could send him into oblivion with his every nerve on fire and his skin tingling in the afterglow. He didn't have to have sex every eight hours, nor did he want to. John had stamina, it was true, but even he wouldn't be able to cope with two partners milking orgasms out of him any time they felt like it.

The soldier had somehow found the courage to speak.

"Moriarty likes to show he has possession of my body. Only Sherlock has custody of my heart, not that you'd care for anything like that. And how _dare_ you come into my home and treat me like an animal." The doctor seethed, he had now broken away from Sherlock and was standing with clenched fists, leaving the detective to marvel at the sudden change in character (he had expected it to take at least two more weeks before John was able to hear Mycroft's name without going into a panic attack). "Get out of my flat." The soldier demanded. Mycroft looked down his nose in disgust then turned his attention back to his younger brother.

"Sherlock, if you can't control your pet, at least keep him away from visitors. We wouldn't want to have him put down." He said. John blinked, trying to wipe away the rising fury. When it proved too difficult, he marched straight to where the elder Holmes sat and loomed over him.

"Get out or I will throw you out myself." John snarled, his neck muscles tensing as he spoke. Mycroft smirked and stood up, now towering over John.

"Don't presume that I am someone who can be physically manoeuvred, _doctor_." He retorted threateningly.

The government official walked passed him, stopping when he was in front of a still stunned Sherlock. He handed the detective an object then walked out of the door, closing it behind him. When Sherlock looked down, he realised that it was a leash with a small tag saying 'Keep it under control' handwritten in a cursive fashion along with a phone number that was later found to be the line to the local dog pound. One which still put animals down.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN- **Well here is the next chapter. I am sorry for any mistakes, it's been a busy week. If you do find any blaring errors then let me know. Enjoy!

* * *

John sank to the floor the moment the door closed behind the elder Holmes brother, he wrapped his arms round his body, hugging his knees tightly to his chest like he would fall to pieces if he didn't. Sherlock was by his side in an instant, texting Moriarty with one hand to make sure the criminal got back to the flat before John went to bed, not that the man was capable of going anywhere right at that moment in time, he was barely holding back the sobs. He had no idea why, a couple of moments ago he was in a haze of blind fury about to smash the bastards nose through his brain but now he felt like a lost child, not knowing which way to go or what to do.

Once he had sent his text, the detective threw the phone onto the sofa and pulled John into a bone crushing hug, engulfing him and blocking out the rest of the world. Neither man spoke for an endless amount of time. Somewhere behind them, the door clicked then opened.

"Oh for the love of…" An Irish voice growled, followed by footsteps marching towards them. Sherlock was pulled off of John and the doctor was forced to stand. Moriarty eyed him from head to toe then shoved him down on the sofa before crawling onto his lap, effectively pinning him in place.

"I have had enough of this." He snapped. "Now you get a grip or so help me I will show you what it is like to be afraid. I will send you to the brink of death so many times that you will know the way to get there off by bloody heart." John blinked up at him, the words seeming to bounce straight off of him. Jim hissed in annoyance and slipped off the doctors waist, dragging the man behind him as he prowled into Sherlock's bedroom.

John let himself be towed into the room and forced down onto the bed. Jim hovered above him, glaring down at him like an avenging angel. The doctor held his gaze, only just, and he was thrown backwards by the criminal. Sherlock appeared in the doorway and Moriarty turned to him.

"Get out." He commanded. The detective, after hearing his earlier threats, made no move to do so. Jim shot a death glare at him. "Get out now. Daddy has work to do." Sherlock still didn't move. The Irishman rolled his eyes but when he spoke again his voice was softer. "I'm not going to hurt him." The taller male eyed his enemy suspiciously, it didn't look like he was lying but then he never was able to tell one hundred percent with the psychopath- though the man was impeccably truthful when it suited him. Sherlock looked over to John, still lying on the bed, he wanted- no, he _needed _his John back. They'd gone months now with very little change. The detective clenched his jaw and sent his nemesis a look which showed all the gruesome things which would happen to Jim should he go back on his word. The psychopath grinned brightly and wiggled his fingers in a wave. Sherlock stepped back out of the room and closed the door with a soft click, leaving John to face whatever Moriarty had planned for him.

* * *

When Sherlock had closed the door, Moriarty turned back to his willing captive and eyed him slowly.

"This stupid cowardice stops now." He growled lowly, crawling forwards so that he was directly above the soldier. "I have had enough of coming in and finding you a wreck. Four times this month we've had to all sleep together. I thought you were getting better but there's a slight chill and you freeze to the fucking spot!" He snapped. John flinched and Jim cooled down immediately. "Don't worry though, pet. Daddy has got this sorted." He pulled out a phone identical to his own and handed it to the doctor. When John didn't grab it, he folded the man's hands round the object forcefully. The soldier sat up warily and flicked through the phone, he'd used Sherlock's enough to know how it worked. The contacts were filled with shady characters and black market personnel, as well as Jim's own personal mobile number. John raised an eyebrow as he wordlessly looked at his criminal lover. Moriarty grinned in return.

"Buckle up, Johnny-Boy. I'm bringing you into my big bad world, whether you like it or not."

* * *

Sherlock waited outside the room. Even with an ear pressed to the door, he wouldn't be able to tell what was being said. That didn't stop him from trying and gritting his teeth in frustration. He could hear Jim's voice but he couldn't make out what was being said. It was driving him insane. When had the world become such a mess? In his head, it was a jumble. Papers littered the floors of his mind palace. He shouldn't trust Moriarty, he should wipe him from the face of the earth. But if he did that then the damage to John might be irreparable. Still, the loss of one person against the ending of a wave chaos and destruction that stretched the entire globe. Then again, that one person was John and he had sworn that he would protect him, it was his own fault for John's involvement in all of this. So where did that leave Moriarty? While the doctor was at risk every moment he was with the man, he was also the most protected person on the face of the earth. There was the entire underworld to look out for him, and all that power should something happen to him. Sherlock clutched at his head. Why did everything have to be so complex? People are stupid and stupidity is so mind bogglingly complex that most didn't even bother to think about it. He couldn't even tell what he should do, never mind what he wanted to do. There was a sound which he knew better than anything, his head whipped round to face the door again. That sound was John. John moaning.

* * *

Jim shuffled slightly and trailed his hands down the soldier's body. "I'm going to need you to moan now, pet." He stated before gripping the other man's cock. John gasped, unable to hold back the loud moan that erupted from his throat. Moriarty pulled away almost instantly, smirking to himself.

"Wh-wh?" John tried to ask. Jim wasn't the type to do that without wanting to take it further. The consulting criminal smiled down at him.

"Sorry Sweetie, that was just to get Sherlock off my back. Now we can get back to business." John whimpered in reply and tried to calm his body down again, a feat which was hard enough at any time but damn near impossible when he was sat on a bed which he'd been fucked mercilessly on too many times to count. Jim clicked in his face.

"Attention up front, Johnny." He snapped before instantly calming again. "Now that you're mine, I think I should reap some of the other benefits." He stated, his eyes held the gaze of a predator, one which beckoned its prey to come and sit beside it. John was well and truly caught in that stare.

"Now we best get you ready, I have a meeting in half an hour."

* * *

About ten minutes later, the door opened and John was ushered out in an expensive suit which had been bought about four weeks ago. Sherlock felt arousal stir but he quickly pushed it aside. The doctor hated suits, he loathed them with every fibre of his being, but that didn't stop him looking like the epitome of sex while wearing one. Jim caught his expression and grinned darkly.

"I'm taking Johnny for a walk. Don't wait up, Shirley darling." He cooed sweetly, an arm slinking round the soldier's waist. John scowled at the criminal then smiled apologetically at Sherlock.

"We'll be back soon." He promised. Jim snorted and began to guide him to the door, winking at the detective over his shoulder. As Sherlock watched them leave, he noted that John was almost back to his usual self.

* * *

Sebastian Moran greeted the two men at the door, though his expression bore nothing but hostility to Dr Watson. Jim sent him a testing glance and the hitman quickly covered up his facial expression. John found himself being lead down the corridors to the large living room, a room that John had hardly been in. Moran opened the door and held it for the two men to pass through then closed it with him still on the outside, he had had this job long enough to know that he was not welcome in this conversation. Inside, John followed the criminal, keeping his head high and his gaze fixed on Jim.

They passed a small group of people who where sat at one end of a desk. Moriarty sat down in a chair opposite them and John stood beside him until the psychopath pulled a chair out and patted it. The doctor gritted his teeth then took his place next to the consulting criminal. On the other side to them, the group looked slightly confused. Moriarty smirked and placed a hand on the soldiers knee.

"Don't mind my pet here, now why have you requested my services?" He asked, his eyes still resting on John though his question was directed on the group. One man, young; early twenties, coughed and spoke up.

"We've got a small business ferrying drugs over the border between here and France. One of the guards who passes our crates through inspection as turned his back on us. He lost us and entire shipment and says that the next time, he'll turn us in. We need to get rid of him and install a new guard but we can't figure out how to do it." The rest of the group nodded in agreement. Moriarty rested back against his chair, he turned his head to John.

"So what do you think, dear?" He asked. The soldier only just stopped himself from glaring at the man.

"I think you're all insane." He replied bluntly.

Moriarty raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue. The doctor hesitated, not wanting to carry on but knowing he had no choice.  
"There is no way that you'll be able to replace that guard and to try would just alert everyone to your business and your blunder. Who would want to get anything from a company that can't even keep a hold of their members?" He paused for a moment. "You need to set up a new route, or several. I'd say to use the channel tunnel. Hide the drugs in family cars, in toys, bags, even in the car itself, then have families drive them across. You don't need to bribe guards and it's a lot less likely to attract the attention of the authorities, though you'll have to keep getting new cars to stop arousing suspicion." John finished, feeling absolutely awful inside but refusing to let it show. The group stared at him in disbelief. Jim smiled dangerously.

"My wolf." He purred, trailing his fingers along the thigh they had rested on before.

The criminal then turned to his new clients.

"Well there is your advice. I can help set up this new business adventure, for a slice of the company profits of course." His eyes pierced into the man that had spoken and John knew that they were caught. The man nodded and then conversation was launched into facts and figures. The doctor let everything wash over him, he wasn't there. He was back with Sherlock solving crimes. They were laughing as the detective had just dragged him down every street of London to get away from an assassin the criminal had sent out to get rid of them. Fingers strummed against his thigh and he blinked, back in the room once again. The group were standing up, all smiles and thanks. Jim had his telltale smirk on his face, another captive trapped in his vast web, unable to escape even if they wanted to.

* * *

**AN- **Hey everybody! How's it going so far? This is just a heads up that this week is a very busy one. I'm at school thirteen hours a day, how do people cope doing this? It's going to kill me... Anyway, the next update might be a little late.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN-** Well I know I said I'd probably be late but... surprise! It's early instead. I realised that I won't be able to post on Monday due to not being anywhere near internet access (I'm already crying, how am I going to cope?!) so I've sorted this chapter out for you all. As always, let me know of any mistakes and I hope you enjoy.

B  
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* * *

Once alone in the room, Moriarty turned to the doctor. John seemed to have a light back in his eyes, it was dull and barely visible but it was there. Jim grinned as he snaked an arm around the soldiers waist.

"I think you'll make a brilliant consulting criminal." He cooed, using his other hand to tap John on the nose. The doctor gritted his teeth.

"I am not going to go into your job." He snapped. "It's bad enough I was brought here to play eye candy for you. I never want to be in one of your meetings ever again." Moriarty jumped up and down on the spot, clapping his hands. The doctor blinked, unsure where in his last sentence he had said something which the psychopath would have found good. The criminal flicked out his phone.

"It seems Shirley wants you for a case. A proper case, not just something to get you out of the house or away from me. I'll get Jeeves to give you a lift." He stated, not giving the doctor a choice in the matter. John rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Now let me get out of this bloody suit." He growled half-heartedly. Moriarty tutted with a shake of his head.

"Now now, Johnny, I think you look too good in that suit. You don't wear it anywhere near enough. Besides, Shirley wants you to keep it on." John was ushered out of the room and into the awaiting car before he could even think of a reply.

* * *

On the way, John twirled his fingers on the condensation of the window pane. It was crazy, the look that Moriarty had given him. He thought back over what he had said and sudden realisation hit him. He had stood up for himself. That was what the criminal was so happy about. Which was worrying as Jim had a thing for him being entirely helpless. John guessed that the consulting criminal didn't like it when his prey was too easy to catch. He looked out of the window and saw the police cars outside a small, rundown flat. The car pulled up and he heard the locks click open. Jeeves, the driver, got out and opened the door for him. He stepped, much to the awe of the police officers who stood watching him, out and straightened out his suit. Sherlock was waiting with a slightly flushed expression, one which said he was desperately trying gain control of his body. The doctor smiled slightly and walked with slow deliberation to his partner.

"You owe me." He murmured lowly before walking through the door. Sherlock nodded, red blush now clear on his high cheeks.

* * *

Inside, Lestrade turned with a mirrored expression to every other police officer they passed, bar a few who looked in appraisal and wishing they had got in there sooner to ask the doctor if he was taken. The DI stood dumbstruck for a few moments then shook himself and spoke.

"So what's the special occasion?" He asked politely. John rolled his eyes.

"My annoying genius finally wormed his way into getting it me then demanded I wear it." He replied. Greg gave Sherlock a look, the detective looked through the door into the room where he knew the corpse was lying, John was clearly feeling much better but Sherlock still didn't feel right about something. The doctor had his spark back, his hand wasn't shaking, but something was different. The annoying thing was that he couldn't quite place what it was that that had changed and not knowing was driving him insane. He grabbed the soldiers arm and dragged him away from the DI before the man could pry any further and pushed him into the crime scene.

The stench was almost overpowering. Almost. Which meant that the corpse had been lying there for well over two days. John turned to Sherlock, the man was already prancing about the place so this was definitely a proper case. The detective scanned every minute detail of the room, while slipping on a pair of gloves he pulled from his coat pocket, then he looked over at John with wild eyes burning.

"Well go on then," He yipped, practically vibrating with anticipation, "Go do your doctor-y stuff on the body." The soldier rolled his eyes, trying to stop the grin from forming on his face. He knelt beside the body, a male in his forty's at a guess. It was hard to tell at first glance what had kill him but on opening the mouth, the doctor had his answer.

"He was poisoned." John stated, looking up to his partner. Sherlock smiled dangerously smugly. Of course he would already have known that. The soldier folded his arms. 'I know you're dying to tell us how you figured it out.' He pushed, not actually asking Sherlock to tell him but knowing the man was going to use it as an excuse to anyway. The detective rocketed into his deductions, John tried his best to keep up but he fell out of sink somewhere around 'unhinged cupboard door'.

The detective soon realised that the doctor wasn't taking in what he said and was about to stop before deciding that he would just explain it in simpler terms when they got back to the flat, John wouldn't appreciate being singled out in front of the Yard. Besides, they didn't understand it anyway and he was damned if he was going to shine a little light on their vast void of ignorance, the shock of it might just kill them all and he definitely didn't want to ask help for covering up bodies again, Moriarty was still holding him on the last time they had a body to hide.

Sherlock skirted around the room one last time before turning back to the DI, barking out where they would find the killer- a young man who wanted to see if the stuff he bought actually worked before using it on his very suspicious wife. Lestrade, just glad to have this case out of the way, nodded and sent a group of officers almost immediately. Before Sherlock had a chance to leave, the DI was stood in front of him. John felt a chill in his blood and he shook his head slowly but the greying detective paid him no heed.

"Sherlock, I can't help but notice that John keeps appearing with strange bruises. Now even had many conversations about the origin of these and I'm still not sure that he's being entirely truthful with me." Sherlock glanced at Lestrade.

"You think that I'm abusing John." He stated, annoyed that the male was even speaking to him.

"Basically, yes. It's not right to see a good man beaten and strangled and still walking around like it's nothing. Hell, it's not right to see anyone like that." Greg answered bluntly. The taller male barked out a humourless laugh.

"Do you really think I would?" Sherlock asked. "I hate contact with the rest of this plebeian race to begin with, do you really think I would waste time to injure my only friend?" Behind him, John scowled. He was fighting not to go over there and telling the DI that next time he butt in his nose was going to be yanked off his face.

"I honestly don't know, Sherlock. What I do know is that John is constantly attracting bruises."

"We have dangerous jobs, always chasing criminals."

"More like being chased by them." The doctor huffed, earning him a smirk from his flatmate.

"Can you be serious for just one minute?" Greg Lestrade asked, "I don't think that you chase criminals every night." Sherlock was about to reply but the DI silenced him with a hand. "I don't want to hear excuses. One more time, Sherlock. If I once more find bruises, cuts or fractures on John which weren't as part of the job I will be coming for you." John growled, grabbing the Yarder's attention.

"It wasn't him. I won't tell you again." His tone was low but not quite threatening. Greg gave him a sharp look then walked out. After a few moments, the soldier worked up the courage to look at Sherlock. The detective was staring intently at him but his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"No more, John. Greg's right. This shouldn't happen, no matter who's doing it."

* * *

Back at the flat, John was surprised to see he had a visitor. Steve smiled jauntily and grasped him in a strong hug.

"John!" He cried happily. "I swear you're the hardest man in the universe to find.' He chuckled. 'This is the fifth time I've tried to get a hold of you. Still, you're here now. Mrs Hudson is the nicest woman in the world, by God-" The rambling continued for a good few minutes before the man finally got onto the reason he was there. 'I made the rounds with the lads and they all said yes to meeting up. We woz wondering when ya think would be a good day?' He asked cheerfully. Sherlock scowled at the unwanted visitor. John gave him a warning glance before putting on his best smile.

"Great, you know what? I could do with a pint or seven after the day I've had. Can you call round and sort it for tonight, any pub will do." He replied, feeling the scowl of his flatmate turning into a livid stare of hatred which was now directed at him. Steve smiled brightly and patted him on the shoulder, the good one but that was more out of luck than actually paying attention to what he was doing.

"Good man! I'll get the gang, we'll pick you up about seven, yeh?" He asked. John smiled and nodded.

"Yeh, that sounds great. See you later, Steve." The large man bundled out of the door with an almost skip in his step. The doctor watched him leave with a chuckle on his lips.

"Why are you going out?" Sherlock questioned, John sighed at the sulky tone of his flatmates voice. This was not going to go well.

"Because, oddly enough, I do need to have some time with people who aren't you or Jim. I've spent the last Lord knows how many months not out of the combined sight of you two. At least give me one night every now and again." He answered, keeping his voice calm.

"But… I was going to spend the evening with you. We'd be with Moriarty till later so we could do what we liked. I was going to lock the bedroom so he couldn't get in." Sherlock whined.

"Did you ask me about any of this, I think not." The doctor realised how harsh that sounded and added, "Besides, you know I wouldn't be having sex tonight, not after this morning. I'm still recovering from that, by the way." The thinly disguised argument was briefly abated.

It took all of three minutes for Sherlock to start it back up again though.

"Do you hate me?" A sully voice asked. John turned to the pouting features of his flatmate and rolled his eyes.

"We are not doing this." He stated, pushing past the sulking man. Sherlock grasped him by the arm.

"Why? Because you don't have the time?" He snapped. John grit his teeth.

"No, because I am not going to have this argument with you. Or Moriarty, for that matter. Steve is my friend and God help me, I need some normality. I am going to the pub tonight. If you or Jim follow me I won't be touching either of you for a month. Got that?" Without waiting for a reply, the soldier marched up the stairs. Sherlock watched him leave with a growing dread, he was beginning to see what had changed.

* * *

**AN- **Well that's it for another week, we should be back to normal come next Monday.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite the trouble with Sherlock, John still managed to find himself sat at a table in a pub with a growing number of empty pint glasses appearing miraculously in front of him and his four army mates. Steve raised his recently filled pint glass in the traditional toasting fashion, which was joined by the others at the table. Conner and Jed Wrightly were brothers both tall with dark hair. Only Conner had blue eyes and Jed had green. Tim was of a similar build to John, though with paler skin and pitch black hair. Steve was the burly man, strong and large in every meaning of the word but kind. To those that had earned it, anyway.

"So John, how's life on the other side of the street?" Tim asked, he had always been blunt. Which was a skill he somehow used to attract girl after girl while on breaks from the front line. Of course, they never lasted very long as being faithful wasn't one of Tim's skills. He was a loyal friend though, one of the best to have guarding your back. John laughed.

"I'm not on the other side of the street. I… Uh… Ah." There was an eruption of laughter from the lads has John grumbled half-heartedly.

"Don't worry John, we've all been there. What I want to know it what's it like with two blokes. I mean how does that work?" Steve asked.

There was a surprised glance from two of the men at the table. Obviously, Steve had told them all that John 'batted for the other team' but he'd probably left it at that. Conner, one who had given a surprised glance spoke up.

"Two men? How is that even possible?" He questioned. John sighed, well he'd best get this section of conversation over with. He knew it would come up at some point anyway.

"Look, I don't slee- well I don't have sex with them both at the same time. They hate each other. I think that if it were not for me they'd have killed each other already. It's just that they both want me enough that they put up with each other. But my word is it straining. It's a good thing that Sherlock isn't always after sex because I think I would have died by now." He chuckled quietly to himself.

"So the other one is then?" Jed asked jokily. The blond doctor gave him a glance.

"He's a fucking menace." John replied. "I can't keep the bastard off of me." Tim laughed.

"Well, you were always a hit with the girls. It seems you've got the same luck with the fellas if what I've heard about this Sherlock is true. Good thing that this aint a gay bar or we'd be fighting the mob." This time the rest of the table couldn't help but join in with his laughter, including John.

"It would be for their own protection." John added. "Sherlock and Jim would murder anyone else who tried to get with me."

This raised an eyebrow or two.

"Well they're both extremely protective… Actually I don't have any idea why they put up with each other. Not that I'm ungrateful, I'd hate to see what would happen should one decide they're through with sharing.." John physically shivered and downed the remainder of his pint. Though his mates looked as if they wanted to continue the onslaught of questions, John finishing his pint was his way over saying 'conversation over'.

"Right then," The doctor stated, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "Whose buying the next round?"

* * *

When John finally got home, at around three the following morning, Sherlock was sat on the sofa waiting for him. The taller male had his arms folded and a piercing gaze which he fixed onto his flatmate.

"You said you'd be home by two." The man stated. John groaned, there were many things he'd expected but this wasn't one of them.

"Please Sherlock, just let me go to bed. You can do this tomorrow. You can do this for the rest of the week, just not now." He answered. It seemed that this wasn't good enough for the consulting detective.

"You said you'd be back by two. I texted you and you didn't answer. I rang you and do you know what I found? Your phone by my bedside. What if you got attacked, kidnapped? You could have been bleeding on the floor and I couldn't reach you." Sherlock was now up and pacing the floor.

"If that happened, which it didn't, I do have a phone on me." He answered, very articulated for a man who had drank more pints than he technically should have.

To prove his point, he drew out the phone Jim had given him.  
"See. It has your number and it has Jims and a load of shady characters that I don't even know why I haven't deleted yet. And it probably has some kind of tracking device. So stop throwing such a hissy fit and let me go to bed. Jesus Christ, what does a man have to do to get some sleep around here?" John asked, annoyed. Sherlock stood frozen to the spot and John saw this as an invitation for him to go into the bedroom.

"I'm gonna sleep on your bed. I suppose it's mine too. I use it more than you do. If you come to bed try not to wake me. Thanks love." The doctor grabbed his flatmate and kissed him hard on the lips then totted over to the bedroom, only stumbling once as he tried to pocket the phone at the same time as taking a step.

* * *

The next morning, John groaned within two seconds of becoming conscious. He blinked away the blinding light and rolled over to see a glass of water and two paracetamol on the table beside him. Smiling, he swallowed the pills with a swig of water and made his way into the bathroom, sidestepping the pile of his clothes which had been neatly dumped into a mountain on the floor.

Feeling refreshed and trying to make sense of the hazy blur of the night before, John strolled into the living room. Sherlock was sat at the dining room table, looking like he hadn't moved all night.

"Oh God, what did I do?" John asked, suddenly worried. His detective boyfriend glared at him and flipped out a phone. The doctor gasped when he realised it was the one that Jim had given him. The one he'd decided he wouldn't let Sherlock know he had for precisely this reason.

"He gave you a phone." The detective growled. "A phone with contacts to just about every person I have tried to keep away from you since we met. There are even the personal numbers of a few mafia bosses in here. Why on earth would you keep it? More to the point, why didn't you tell me?" The detective kept a firm grip on his newly acquired item.

"Well Jim gave it to me, how was I supposed to get rid of it? And this here is the exact reason. You must have gone through my clothes. I've told you about going through my stuff, Sherlock." John answered, riling himself up for one big fight, get everything out in this and limit the damage.

"Well you waved the damn thing in my face!" Sherlock cried out indignantly. "You took this blasted thing but you didn't take your own. You didn't take the one that I could reach."

"Of course I didn't. Every time I've taken _my _phone to a date or night out, you bloody well call me. Or text me. Or find a way to track me so you can tag along! Every time, Sherlock. Every single time. I just wanted one night where I didn't have to worry about if I was going to have to take a call or find you bounding up to me. One normal, simple night out. That was all I was asking for. The doctor bit back. His flatmate shuffled backwards, wounded by the harsh words. John sighed, it was exactly like arguing with a woman. Sherlock somehow managed to flip the argument to make John say he was sorry even though everything had come about because Sherlock was being insufferable. It seemed that some things you just couldn't get out of, no matter if you were gay or straight. The doctor sighed and moved to put the kettle on.

As he came back with two cups of tea, Sherlock had taken himself and was now sat in John's chair with his knees up under his chin. The soldier sighed and placed the cup down on the table beside his chair then wandered back to bring the third cup. No sooner had he picked up the item did Moriarty waltz through the door. The doctor sighed again and handed him the tea silently then shuffled to sit on the sofa. Jim raised an eyebrow and followed. He took a quick scan of the room and whipped round to face Sherlock.

"Give Johnny his phone back, dear." He ordered sweetly. The detective growled at him but didn't make any efforts to move. The criminal turned back to John.

"Drink you tea up quickly, Sweetie, we're going out." He cooed. Sherlock stood up immediately and handed the phone back to John.

"You take your own phone as well." He hissed. The doctor nodded, he'd already picked that one up.

Jim had already downed his cup of tea, a worrying prospect as it was still scaldingly hot, and was now waiting expectantly for the doctor to finish his own. John rolled his eyes and placed the remained of his tea on the coffee table, picking up a newspaper and placing it on his lap. He then held it open with one hand and used the other to pick up his tea again. The waiting criminal gritted his teeth.

"You know that I like to read the news while drinking my tea in the morning." John stated, not looking up from his paper. The next sound to be heard was the ringing of Sherlock's laughter. Proper laughter which John hadn't heard for a very long time. He blinked, surprised that the man had found it funny enough to emerge out of his night-long strop. Jim gritted his teeth which only stirred the detective further. The laughter proved infection as soon John couldn't help but chuckle into his cup of tea.

* * *

The tea ended far too quickly and John was soon dragged out of the room. Jim had a look of fury plastered to his face. The doctor let himself be towed for a couple of minutes before he spoke.

"So no suit this time then." He stated. Jim shook his head, though the criminal himself was wearing a suit, he hadn't forced John into one. They rounded another corner and then got picked up by a cab, again not the sleek car that the soldier had expected. He was about to ask what the hell they were doing but with Moriarty in the mood he was in, if there was an answer, John knew he wasn't going to like it. If he got an answer at all, that was. The cab parked and they got out, walking a little way down another street then into a block of flats. John was beginning to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The consulting criminal smiled ruefully and showed a flash of white teeth.

The two men walked up a few flights of stairs before stopping at a rather uninspiring door on the third floor. John stood patiently and waited while Jim took out a key and slipped it in the lock. When the door was opened, the doctor hesitated, knowing that he most likely wasn't going to like what happened to him when he passed through this threshold. There was a flicker of anger on the criminals face and he stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Inside, the room was completely different. Though the corridor leading to the door was drab and not maintained, the rest of the flat was tastefully (and expensively) decorated. John decided it was best not to look at what the bedroom was like, mostly because he was scared about what he would see. The kettle whistled, bringing the doctor out of his thoughts. He turned to see Jim sat on one of the elegant sofas.

"Well go on, dear. I'm dying for a cuppa." He purred. The doctor rolled his eyes and followed the screaming until he got to the kitchen and switched the kettle off.

* * *

**AN- **Well that's it for another week. As always, reviews are loved and message if you find any mistakes. Or if you have any questions.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN- **Hello again! It's that time of the week. Let me know what you think.

B  
X

* * *

"Johnny Boy." John tried to ignore the shrill call of the consulting criminal. "Oh Johnny!" He wished he had the choice not to follow that voice, he really did. It was far too early in the morning for this stuff. Then again, he could easily fight the man off if he wanted to. The soldier just didn't have the will to do it. He reasoned that it was so that the criminal didn't kill him and Sherlock and everything they hold dear but that was only an excuse. There were many times that he could have ended this madness already, Moriarty could be long dead by now, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He had feelings for the consulting criminal and, even if it wasn't as strong as his feelings for Sherlock, it was enough to halt his moves to murder the man. Heaving a sigh, John followed the direction he'd heard the voice coming from and stepped into the bedroom.

* * *

The bed was, as expected, large with bars at each end which made bondage that much easier. It had soft linen bed sheets which looked extremely expensive and certain consulting criminal on top of them with his suit jacket off, as well as his shoes and socks, as well as the top three buttons of his shirt undone suggestively.

"Come on, Johnny. Over here." He called. The doctor moved and stood in front of him, waiting for the bastard to pounce on him or try to rip his clothes off or something. Moriarty did none of those things. Instead he stood up and draped his arms over John's shoulders, pressing their bodies flush together.

"It has occurred to me that we have never had a role reversal." He stated seductively. "I think it's about time you did some of the work, Johnny Boy." His voice was now little more than a whisper. The doctor's eyes bulged.

"I…Y… What?" He asked, unable to get a coherent sentence out. Jim smiled and undressed himself slowly before doing the same with John.

Had the soldier not known Moriarty, he would have thought the man was being gentle but he knew he was being stupid. Jim and gentle didn't cohabit the same sentence. Unless he wanted something. And that would mean he was acting. So far, John had let the other male undress him but the last thought made him stop.

"No." The word was as firm as he could manage. Moriarty stilled instantly.

"Why?" He questioned, his voice clipped as he was boarding anger again. John waved his hands for a bit, finding where best to put them before giving in and resting them on the criminals hips.

"Because you're only like this when you're acting and God help me, I don't want you acting. I can deal with the rough sex, I can deal with you attacking me. But I can't bare to think your acting. Then it's not me and you, it's me and whoever you're pretending to be at the moment. So scream at me and throw me into a wall or whatever but don't do this." The doctor removed his hands from where they rested on the Irishman and moved them to his side, waiting for the other male to respond.

* * *

Suddenly, he was dragged forward onto the bed so he fell on top of Moriarty. The criminal removed the remainder of John's clothes then flipped them so he was on top. Below him, the doctor was wide-eyed, his brain still in the process of catching up to him. Perfect. Jim lined himself up and sank down. John groaned and rolled his hips up, pressing further into the criminal. It was at that point that his mind wandered back to him.

"Jim!" He gasped. "What the fuck are you doing?" Above him, the Cheshire cat smiled darkly.

"I want you to fuck me and you will fuck me." He replied, removing himself completely from John's now completely hard member then sheathing the doctor once again. The blond gasped and threw his head back, narrowly avoiding the metal bars at the top of the bed.

"Oh God." Was the only words that came out of his mouth. Moriarty flipped them again, tightening a hand around John's neck.

"Right then. I want you to fuck me and if I think you aren't giving me everything you will not be leaving this room for the rest of the day." He snapped. The doctor blinked, trying to work out what the hell was happening, the lack of oxygen to his brain was quickly making such things impossible and he grunted, repositioning himself so he could get a grip on the rail at the head of the bed. Jim grinned below him and dragged his fingers down the soldiers bare chest, leaving angry red marks in his wake. John started slowly, not wanting to hurt the criminal. Moriarty scowled at him and he started pistoning into the male as hard as he could. The Irishman mewled, John grinned and there was a look in the other males eyes which said _'If you ever bring that up again I will gut you and hang you by your intestines' _but that only made the doctor grin more. His amusement didn't last long though as they flipped again so Jim was now on top.

The man sank down so that John's member was entirely inside him then didn't move. Instead he pinned the doctor's arms above his head and clamped his thighs around the man. John tried desperately to get some sort of friction but it was denied.

"Don't get complacent, Johnny." Moriarty snarled. "I'm still the one in charge." There were many witty comebacks that John could have said but right at that moment, his head was so clouded that all his lips could do was beg.

"Oh God, please. Ahh, Jim, please. Move." He almost sobbed. It wasn't enough for the criminal.

"Who's in charge?" He asked forcefully.

"You, God you. Please Jim." The doctor babbled, giving in completely. Jim chuckled and pecked a kiss on his cheek.

"And don't you forget it." He purred, moving his hands away and allowing them to flip over again.

John's mind hazed as he pounded into the man underneath him. Jim now had a leg slung over the soldiers' shoulder, his bad one but neither man seemed to realise it. The doctor slammed hard into the criminal, pumping the other mans' member in rhythm with his thrusts.

"Ah, Jim. Ah, I'm. Oh." The pressure raised and John was unable to finish his sentence, he was unable to remember what he had been saying. Jim suddenly leaned forward and latch onto John's neck, singing his teeth in and clamping down hard. The doctor screamed as he climaxed. Moriarty clenched and followed him over the edge, hissing into the other males skin which he still clung to. John slumped down on top of Moriarty, gingerly pulling himself out. Jim wrapped his arms around the soldier and clung tight.

* * *

"Uh, Jim?" John asked. "You can stop biting me now." The criminal chuckled shrilly and let go. John rubbed his neck absently, wincing. That mark was going to last at least a week. It was a good think people weren't very observant or they'd know that the bite marks on his neck didn't match up with Sherlock's jaw.

His eyes were lidded with exhaustion, though he really shouldn't be this tired. Jim had wrapped himself around John and was now, for want of a better word, snuggling in the crook of his neck.

"So what brought this on?" The soldier asked, hoping that Jim was in his normal post-cordial bliss. The criminal smiled, almost doe-eyed.

"Back when I brought you along to those imbecilic _smugglers._" He answered with distaste. "I can't believe so many people underestimate you. Had Sherlock not called, I would have had you right there and then but I'm rather glad I waited, as it is." The voice was now a soft hum. John nodded, well trust the consulting criminal to have that as his reason.

"That doesn't mean I'm going to play pet for you every time you have a client." He answered sleepily. Moriarty snorted and pulled the covers up around them, not bothering to argue with the doctor, it wasn't like the man really had a say in anything anyway.

* * *

An unknown amount of time later, John woke up and rubbed his eyes, the sunlight waning outside. He was about to sit up when he realised that his back was pressed tightly to Moriarty's chest. There was no way he could move without waking the other male. John thought about moving anyway but he had no idea how much sleep the criminal had gotten. Always a doctor, John didn't want to think that he had stopped Jim from having the only sleep in a week, which he had accidentally done once already.

"Oh Johnny, you're so sweet." The man behind him cooed. The doctor turned round to see the hooded eyes of his dark haired partner.

"What time is it?" He asked, rolling his protesting bad shoulder with a groan.

"Hmm… About four in the afternoon, we've been asleep a while." Moriarty answered, trailing his fingers over the bite mark he made a several hours earlier. "You might want to get something for that bite." He chuckled. John's hand flew up to his neck and he searched for a mirror.

When he found one, he peered at his neck and groaned in disbelief.

"Come on, Jim." He whined. "I've already got Lestrade on my back, this is not going to help me." Moriarty chuckled.

"Does the darling DI think poor Johnny is being beaten at home?" He cooed jokily. John huffed a laugh.  
"I _am_ being beaten at home." He replied. "It's just that Lestrade thinks that Sherlock's the one doing it. And no, that does not me that you can suddenly appear and beat me up in front of him." At the last sentence, Jim smiled darkly. The familiar cold chill retook it's place on the back of the soldiers neck and he shivered. That particular look on the criminals face could only mean something bad was going to happen. John bit his lip and searched the room for some savalon (or any antiseptic cream) to cover the bite. When he couldn't find any, he turned to Jim who was throwing and catching a small tube with a wicked grin.

"Oh." He said innocently. "Were you looking for this?" The doctor scowled at him and reached for the tube but it was whisked away. "Ah ah ah, turn round and I'll put it on." The criminal stated.

The blond, scowl was still firmly in place, turned his back on his partner and allowed him access to the savage mark on his neck. Cool fingers rubbed the greasy substance into his skin with an almost gentle nature. Once the cream had sunk in, the criminal swiftly moved to remove the left over from his hands, washing them thoroughly.

"Well Johnny, Shirley called while you were zoned out. He they have him locked in a cell at Scotland Yard. Something about domestic abuse charges." John leapt to the pile of his clothing on the floor.

"Shit! I swear I'm going to murder Lestrade." He growled, shoving the shirt over his head and ramming his legs into the trousers. Jim returned from the bathroom fully dressed, his new suit more casual, black trousers and a pale blue shirt. This one was without a jacket.

"Come on then, Sweetie," Moriarty cooed. "Let's go break Shirley out of prison."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN- **And here we are again. Sorry about the cliffhanger from last week. Actually, I'm not. But if it makes you feel better then I apologise. Enjoy.  
B  
x

* * *

"No. Absolutely not." John was adamant, he'd let Moriarty ride in the cab with him to the Yard but there was no way in hell he was going to let the man walk in there.

"You know you don't really have a say in this." Jim cooed, sweeping a strand of John's hair behind his ear. The doctor turned as much as he could in the confines of the cab so he could face his partner properly.

"No. You are not going in there. I will go in and get Sherlock out and try my absolute hardest not to murder Lestrade. You will stay out here where I know that you are not going to get caught by the Yard and the Yarders aren't going to get murdered by you. Stay. Here." Without waiting for a reply, John slid out of the cab and walked into Scotland Yard, a silent fury building up inside him.

* * *

He was met almost immediately by the sneering Sergeant Donavan and the forensic detective, Anderson.

"I told you to keep away from him." Sally quipped. Anderson sniggered.

"The Freak wouldn't know where to begin, I bet his pet wanted to be thrown about, probably begged for it." He retorted. The two officers broke into a fit of giggles. John glared at them both and marched straight past, heading for DI Lestrades office.

* * *

Greg looked up from his desk as John Watson stormed in, he had hoped it would have taken a little longer for the doctor to realise that they had taken in the detective, just long enough that they could find a little more substantial evidence that it was him committing the crimes.

"Let him out. Now." John's voice was dark and foreboding. The DI sighed and stood up from his desk.

"Look John." He stated. "It's for the best, I've seen too many people fall down this hole. You don't have to put up with it, John." His voice was pleading for the doctor not to argue but it was in vain.

"I'm not dead yet, Lestrade, and I have told you that it's not Sherlock. I will swear in court that it's not Sherlock. Let. Him. Go." The detective inspector walked round so that he was in front of the desk, closer to John but still over arms distance away.

"Look, it only takes on time. It looks as though you've been pushed into a fair amount of walls, what if you get pushed down the stairs. Broken bones, you could die, John. You say you're not dead yet but you could be tomorrow. You could be later on today-" There was a commotion outside. John felt his blood run cold, he knew exactly what the commotion was, though he wished an axe murderer had ran inside instead.

* * *

John and Lestrade stepped out of the office.

"Johnny, there you are." Jim's high voice and faux smile cut through every person in the room. "After I told you not to come here, you still do. And I thought I had you trained." John felt the DI still beside him.

"I know how childish this sound but I told you so." John hissed. The Irishman cocked his head, smirk still plastered on his face.

"Johnny, I'm waiting." He called. The doctor felt the entire room staring at him. He swallowed his pride and walked forward until he was stood in front of his partner. The soldier stayed standing, glaring defiantly into Jim's eyes, or more correctly into the black abyss behind them.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten your place already, Johnny." The dark haired man growled. John almost collapsed to his knees, hitting the floor slightly harder than he wanted to. "That's better." He hummed.

Jim was suddenly aware of the people moving behind him. "I wouldn't try sneaking up on me if I were you." He stated coldly, whipping out a small pocket knife and placing the blade to John's neck, right on top of the artery. "One move and this doctor is a bloody heap on the floor." John wanted desperately to look up to Moriarty but he dutifully kept his eyes to the ground, he knew the criminal would show no hesitation in punishing him for stepping out of line, even if it was just an act. Around them, all weapons were dropped and the officers stepped back so they were all against the wall. Jim's smile flickered and he removed the knife, placing it back in his pocket.

"I do believe they have no reason to keep your darling Shirley in shackles. That is a shame." He trailed a finger under John's chin, raising the doctors head so he now looked at his face. "I'm sure you can make it up to me, though." Jim chuckled. The blond doctor gulped, he heard the truth behind that last sentence.

"Jim, please." He begged quietly.

Moriarty chuckled again and let his fingers slide off the other males' face. He then turned to the detective inspector.

"Go release Shirley." He ordered. The DI held his ground all of two seconds before quickly leaving. Jim watched him leave then dragged John to his feet by his hair.

"We best go before the backup arrives, do you think?" He purred, pecking a kiss on the doctors nose. John hesitate and Jim scowled.

"Your precious Shirley will be let out, I think Scotland Yard knows I don't take kindly to disobedience. Come on." He turned on the balls of his feet and exited the room. The doctor followed after him, his limp becoming more pronounced as his leg protest from being thrown to the ground.

* * *

The cab ride back to 221b was completely silent, John sat pressed against the door, as far away from Moriarty as possible. When they reached the flat, John got out and walked straight up into the house without waiting for the criminal. By the time Jim got inside, the doctor was in his room with the door locked. After spending two minutes picking the lock, the Irishman found out that John had gone and put a sliding lock on his side of the door as well, a lock which couldn't be picked. He scowled in annoyance and rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Johnny? Johnny, let me in please." There was no answer. The criminal paced for a few moments then tried again. "Johnny? Don't sulk, I got Sherlock freed didn't I? They won't be thinking you're being beaten up by him anymore." Still no reply. 'Answer me or I'm breaking this door down!' He threatened.

* * *

Finally, the consulting criminal lost his patience entirely and kicked the door hard, forcing it open. John was nowhere to be seen. On closer inspection, the window was thrown open wide. Jim swore profoundly. He'd been duped by the same escape twice. Growling about how he was going to bolt that window then board it up from the outside, the criminal ran downstairs. He was about to walk out the door when he realised that Sherlock's bedroom door was closed though when he'd past it earlier it had been open just a crack. Jim crept over and opened the door. Two figures lay on the bed, wrapped in the covers.

"Go away." A deep voice murmured lowly. Jim blinked, surely the detective couldn't have gotten back so quickly. Sherlock raised his head, soon followed by John, they both looked over at the criminal.

"I don't interrupt you when you're fucking John, I'd appreciate the same courtesy, thank you." Sherlock growled. Moriarty blinked, he thought it would take a little longer than three and a half minutes for both Sherlock and John to get into the bedroom, undressed and in the bed.

"You got Sherlock out before going to the DI." Jim accused the doctor. John shrugged.

"Of course I did, I knew Lestrade wasn't going to let him out and it was only a matter of time before you burst in, so I went and got Sherlock first. You're both right, you know. Scotland Yard security is shit." After speaking, the soldier dived back under the covers. Sherlock gave Jim a smug glance and followed him. Moriarty thought about staying for a moment then walked out, he didn't want to see John with his rival in that way. Ever.

* * *

As soon as the consulting criminal left the room, John and Sherlock came back up from beneath the covers.

"Well that got rid of him." John sighed. Sherlock thought for a moment then began trailing his hands over the doctors skin.

"You know, it would be a shame to waste this time." He murmured. John shivered and shifted away slightly. The detective quickly removed his hand, looking rejected.

"No no, It's not like that!" John said quickly, grabbing hold of Sherlock's arm. "I just, I mean after this morning, I just don't think I have another round in me." He explained. Sherlock nodded, the one time he wanted this, Jim had stopped him from having it. Then again, the criminal would just take, he didn't care if John had 'another round' in him or not.

"I'm not going out tonight though." John stated, twirling his fingers on the bed sheets. "If you could keep Jim away from me long enough, we can spend the night." He suggested. Sherlock smiled crookedly.

"And the following day?" He asked, giving his best puppy dog expression. The soldier chuckled and ran his hand through his flatmates dark, curly hair.

"Sure."

* * *

About an hour later, John remerged from the bed room with Sherlock close on his heels, watching over him like a hawk. Jim walked over and tried to slink an arm around the doctor but Sherlock batted it away.

"He is mine of the rest of today and the whole of tomorrow at least. You've had him to yourself for the best part of the last month and a half." The detective snapped, wrapping his arms around John's chest from behind. His criminal enemy scowled at him.

"It's not my fault you've had cases. Do you want me to just leave Johnny by himself when you're off shining your brilliance on the world?" He snapped in disgust.

"No, I just don't want you screwing him every chance you get. He's not your personal fuck toy!" Sherlock shrieked back.

John sighed, trapped between the bickering men.

"Seriously guys." The doctor called, his arms still pinned to his sides by Sherlock behind him. "Just cool it, will you? I know that neither of you are good at sharing but for Gods sake, sort this out like adults." Jim scoffed and Sherlock snarled at him, moving John away from the criminal even more.

"I'm serious." John warned. "You two sort this out now or I'm going to go and visit my mother for a week or several." Sherlock froze behind him and Jim had an aghast look on his face.

John's mother was a whirlwind of a woman, her emotions changed by the minute and she was the most obvious person that John knew, and that was saying something. Sherlock had had to speak with her once and had only managed thirty seconds before he'd turned to John begging to be released from the torture. Jim had seen the woman, well of course, he knew the benefit of becoming friends with the mother of a partner. She'd seen right past his ruse from the beginning and had immediately thrown him out of the house. John had found out moments later when his mum rung him up.

"You wouldn't." Jim said, the certainty in his voice more directed at himself than John. "You can't stand being in that house either." John smiled sweetly.

"Yes but I'd rather have mother judging my every move and trying to teach me to cook to her standards than be sat between the two of you while you're bickering over me." He answered, slipping out of Sherlock's grip and moving towards the kitchen.

When he was out of sight, the two genii stared at each other.  
"He wouldn't…" Sherlock said quietly, not sure.  
"He would." Jim affirmed, not in any way happy about it.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of the day went by pretty quietly, Jim had skulked off somewhere soon after John had left the two men to sort out their differences. Sherlock stayed just in his peripheral vision, waiting to pounce (for once in the metaphorical sense) as soon as the doctor indicated he was ready for their night time plans. John sat with his cup of tea and switched the TV on, not to watch it but to see how long he could push the detective before the man snapped.

About an hour and a half was the limit for Sherlock and he strode forward, swiped the newspaper that John had found along with his tea, placed them both on the coffee table then straddled the soldier.

"Stop teasing." He growled. "You've been fidgeting for ten minutes now, I know you want to come to bed with me and still you insist on drawing this out and indirectly lessening the time I have with you. Just stop it." John smiled up at him, his eyes giving all the permission that Sherlock needed to swoop in and capture the doctors mouth in a soft kiss. John felt his lips tingle with electricity and he tried to deepen the kiss but the detective was determined to take his time, grabbing the soldiers hair to hold him in place. John broke away with a confused glance and it was Sherlock's turn to smile ruefully.

"We're going to do this properly. Jim uses you, I'm going to have you." His voice growlled lowly and the doctor couldn't help but moan, biting his lip to try and hide the sound. Sherlock chuckled and rolled his hips, grinning darkly as his actions caused John to gasp and buck uncontrollably.

Eventually, Sherlock slid of John's lap and guided him to the bedroom before peeling off each layer of clothing excruciatingly slowly.

"Fuck's sake, Sherlock. Hurry up." John groaned, gripping the detectives shirt, trying to tear the fabric from the taller males body. Sherlock still altogether and gently pulled John to the bed. The next thing the doctor realised was this flatmates skilled tongue trailing down his skin. He shivered and tried to sit up but a pale hand on his chest stopped him.

"Let me." Sherlock murmured softly, more a question than an order. John gripped the bed sheets and nodded with a whimper.

Less than a millisecond later, the tongue was back, leaving slick trails that went ever lower but never past the navel. The soldier panted and twisted his hands, still gripping the sheets.

"Oh God, please Sherlock." He moaned. The detective placed his hands on John's thighs to keep him in place then looked up.

"What was that?" He asked innocently. John glared down at him. Sherlock frowned then blew slowly on the doctors shaft. The blond soldier practically screamed, frustration setting in as he tried to buck his hips again to no avail.

"So what do you want?" Sherlock asked again, his baritone voice smoother than velvet.

"You.' John gasped. 'Will be the ahh… death of me… God, Sherl… Please."

The detective finally took pity and pressed his lips to the head of John's member, hands still firmly on the doctors thighs to stop him bucking. John was torn between wanted to watch and knowing that if he did, this would all be over far too quickly. Sherlock let his tongue slide down the length, barely touch the doctor's skin at all. John moaned abashedly and gripped at the bed sheets again, barely able to keep himself from grabbing his flatmates head and fucking his mouth. It would serve the bastard right for teasing him.

Sherlock pulled away, smirking at the whine emitting from John's lips, and made his way back up.

"As much as I would _love_ to take you over just like that." He purred, cutting himself off as he moved John like a puppet. "I think making you cum this way would be better." He circled a digit around for a moment before slipping the first section inside. John bit his lip, not wanting to beg. Sherlock smiled darkly but then seemed to think better of it and slowly pushed the finger all the way to the knuckle. The soldier wriggled, trying not to moan. His flatmate smiled and retracted the digit, causing the blond to keen wantonly.

"Oh God, please Sherlock." He whined, giving up on not begging. "Please just fuck me." The detective pressed a lip to John's lips.

"Hush, we'll have none of that language." He purred.

The doctor couldn't keep still at all any longer. Sherlock chuckled to himself and raised Johns' legs over his shoulder, hearing the audible sigh as he lined himself up. Then he pressed in, feeling the warm envelope him as he embedded himself to the hilt in the blond doctor. They stayed completely still for a moment, staring at each other before the taller male finally began moving, slowly at first. John gripped Sherlock's forearms tightly, so tight that they knew there would be bruises when this ended but neither man could bring themselves to care. Sherlock picked up the speed and felt his orgasm building. He grasped hold of the doctors member, pumping it in time with his own thrusts. John's mind had abandoned his mouth as he spewed random, half gasping words, most of which didn't even make sense. The soldier clenched as his orgasm ripped through him, sending Sherlock over the top with him. The detective gingerly pulled out then collapsed on top of his doctor, wrapping his arms around the shorter man as he rolled onto his side.

* * *

Slowly, the world came back to John and he sighed contently. Sherlock chuckled and he tilted his head to look at the taller man.

"I had rather hoped we'd last longer than that." The detective smirked. John huffed a laugh.

"You'll have to ask Jim for stamina tips." He replied. Sherlock scowled at him.

"Don't mention his name here." He hissed, gripping the doctor tighter in his hug. John nodded, unable to breath and the hold was loosened slightly. They were silent for many moments, seemingly trapped in a world of their own creation.

* * *

For many hours, the two just lay in the bed snuggling. John was surprised that Sherlock hadn't got restless yet. He cast a glance down at the detective, who was looking very intently at something on his skin. The doctor raised a questioning eyebrow, one that did not go unnoticed.  
"You have a little scar here." Sherlock said, pointing to the skin just below John's right armpit where a two inch slither of white marred the flesh. "It is an unusual place for a scar. Looks like a jagged cut and its old, made far before you went into the army." John knew a veiled question when he saw one, Sherlock wanted to know what happened but he didn't want to ask.  
"That is a memento from my university years." He answered vaguely. "I can't quite remember what happened, I was very drunk at the time." Though he couldn't remember, he knew exactly what had happened. Mike had filled him in the morning after. Sherlock scowled at him.  
"Why won't you tell me?" He huffed, sulking. John chuckled.  
"Because it's really embarrassing and you call me an idiot enough as it is." The detective's bottom lip tremoured a bit, an act which was entirely put on but no less effective. John sighed, knowing that he was going to regret saying this at some point in the near future.  
"Fine," He grumbled. "We had a statue in front of our dorm and every year someone put a traffic cone on his head. In the fourth year it was my turn. I was very extremely drunk at the time and it took me four attempted to get up on the statues shoulders. They threw me up the cone and I put it on his head but then realized I couldn't get down. I sat on the statue for about three hours before attempting it, when I promptly fell forward and pierced myself on the top of the scales the statue was holding. Thankfully it wasn't very long so it didn't go in deep but I then stayed on there for another thirty minutes while they phoned for the ambulance. I woke up in hospital surrounded by my dorm mates. For the next three years, they kept scales away from me and 'escorted' me around any statue to make sure I didn't injure myself."

Seemingly happy with the answer, Sherlock went back to whatever he'd been doing before. John decided it was probably cataloguing all his flaws, and wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended. He was proved right when the detective pushed him, trying to roll him onto his front.

"You have a mouth and the ability to speak." John sighed. "Why don't you just ask me to move?" The detective grunted in reply and pushed him over onto his stomach.  
"Dull." He huffed. John took the answer, most people wouldn't even get that.

* * *

Eventually, John himself got too restless to stay under the covers. He shuffled to the end of the bed and was pulled back again by a strong arm.  
"I'm not finished." Said the petulant man-child. John unhooked the fingers gripping his waist and made to get out again.  
"If I stay here any longer I'll wet myself" He replied. "I'm surprised that you aren't bouncing off the walls yourself." The detective stared at him.  
"I'll buy the milk for a week if you stay in the bed"' He offered, completely straight faced. John frowned.  
"What?"  
"If you stay until I've finished then I will go out and buy the milk for a week. You are always complaining about how I never buy the milk." Sherlock explained, his face now uncertain, wondering if he had misjudged the importance of milk. John realised why every time they had an argument that was essentially Sherlock's fault, the fridge became loaded with milk. It was him apologizing. In his own, absurd way.  
"Can I go to the loo then come back?" John asked, really feeling the need in his bladder now. His partner sighed.  
"Fine." He sulked, pulling away.

It was the quickest loo visit John had ever had, he didn't want to keep Sherlock waiting, not when he'd promised to actually to some shopping. The doctor thought he might even be able to convince the man to pick up a few other things while he was there. As soon as he returned, John lay back down on his stomach and Sherlock continued his exploration into the life and times of John Watson's body.

* * *

At evening, Moriarty finally decided to show. When the door opened, John was busy watched Doctor Who reruns on Watch while Sherlock was snuggling up behind him on the sofa with his long arms wrapped around the doctor's waist. For the whole day, Sherlock had been adamant that he would not leave John's side, which was annoying when the doctor just wanted to go and make himself a damn cup of tea without an overgrown sea urchin clung to the back of him. The criminal looked at the two men for a moment then went and sat in John's chair without a word.

Doctor Who finished and the adverts blared out at three times the volume of the episode. No one moved to turn it down though, the remote was on the coffee table which meant that someone would have to stand to get it.  
"Have a nice day?" John asked casually, his eyes skirting up to the Irishman. Jim huffed.  
"Finally acknowledging me then." He sulked. John rolled his eyes.  
"Doctor Who is sacred." He replied. "You should know that by now. When I'm watching Doctor Who, nothing short of the apocalypse is going to tear me away from the screen." Moriarty glowered.  
"Be careful what you say, Johnny Boy. I could easily bring about the apocalypse for your attentions." His voice was low and threatening but John paid no attention. Instead, he forced Sherlock to sit up in the side closest to the TV. He then patted the sofa next to him as an invitation for Moriarty to sit with them. The criminal looked at the offered place for a second, John knew he wanted to sit in the best seat, the one in which Sherlock currently resided.  
"There's another episode on after the break and I'm not going to move for you when it starts." John warned, patting the sofa again. Grumbling, Jim shuffled over and slid underneath the doctor's feet, placing a hand on the blond males' stomach. John sighed contently as the Doctor Who theme tune blazed into life once more.

* * *

**AN-** And we're done for another week. I'm beginning to remember why I don't write fluff very often... It's so difficult. Anyway, thanks for reading!  
B  
x


	9. Chapter 9

**AN-** Hello out there! To anyone still reading, I thank you. I'd also love to hear what you think so far.  
B  
x

* * *

The next day, John decided to head out by himself. He didn't know what had made him so needy of independence all of a sudden but he knew he had to get away from his flatmates. Sherlock was sceptical about letting him leave while Jim was over the moon. This brought about a verbal sparring match between the two geniuses, one which was loud enough to rival an atomic bomb and twice as deadly. John watched the two bicker for a couple of minutes then grabbed his gun and a jacket and snuck out of the flat once he saw an opening.

* * *

Outside, the doctor kept a brisk pace, it wasn't anywhere near warm enough outside to dawdle at a leisurely pace. John tried not to jump or freeze every time someone brushed up against him but it was hard, he half expected to be injected and dragged off the street but he swallowed his fears and continued walking. This was foolish, but he couldn't live in fear any longer. He couldn't hide in his hovel and wait for the world to pass by outside. John passed by a small café and backtracked to head inside. In the cosy room, the doctor realised he'd taken Jim's jacket by mistake. He groaned, then realised that the coat contained Jim's phone, keys and wallet. It was the wallet that he was especially pleased about, as it meant he could get a drink.

With a drink-coffee, one sugar- in hand, John found a table which allowed him to sit with his back to the wall and had a vantage point for the main entrance. He was partially hidden by the patterned window so people looking into the café would have to be really looking to find him. Of course, that meant he had no hope of staying hidden if Holmes or Moriarty walked by but to the general population he was pretty much invisible. John took a sip of the coffee and allowed himself to relax, just a little. He jumped back into full alertness as his pocket vibrated angrily. Scolding himself for being so easily scared, John fished out the mobile and looked at the screen. A message. It was Jim's phone, Jim's _work _phone, he really should answer this or even look at the text. He probably didn't want to know what it was about anyway.

**We need help. Now. **

He was right, he really didn't want to know what was going on. The text was by some person who'd been named 'Victim' in Jim's contacts, which could really be anyone he knew. Another vibration rippled through the phone and the text thread updated with an address. It wasn't all that far away, in fact if he ran, John would be there in about five minutes. The doctor frowned, wondering why he'd even thought about going to the aid of some random criminal. But really, it was his fault if it all went badly, wasn't it? Moriarty probably had some plan in place but if he didn't get the texts then he couldn't put them in action.

John was running down the high street, with every footstep he reminded himself that this was a stupid idea and yet his feet still pounded the pavement, getting ever closer to the address in the text. When he was outside, John took a moment to inspect the building. It was a small terrace house, state of the art and mightily familiar but the soldier couldn't place where he knew it from. Still, his decision was made. John carefully crept round to the back of the house, checking each ground floor window as he passed to see if it was open. Eventually, he found one and hoisted it up. With on final look inside, John heaved himself onto the windowsill and slipped inside.

* * *

"-why don't we just give him a big neon sign saying 'kidnap me' while we're at it? Or better yet, just hand him over to Mycroft now and save everyone the hassle." Sherlock growled, his hands waving in the air to accentuate his point. Jim folded his arms, tapping one foot. They'd been arguing for ages now, at least four minutes and he was bored of it.  
"It's his idea." He said. "And besides, do you really think I'd leave him unprotected? I have the world at my fingertips, keeping track of one veteran army doctor is easy-" Moriarty reached for his phone and found it wasn't there. He turned to the chair where he had put his jacket down when he'd walked in only to find that missing as well. In fact, come to think of it, he hadn't heard John since the argument had started. Jim froze.  
"Shit."

* * *

John made his way through the dim house, no lights were on inside but the light from the sun cast enough for him to walk without bumping into things. He checked every downstairs room before he was faced with a choice; go upstairs or go downstairs. Either way, he was bound to alert anyone in the house so he needed to make sure he went the right way. John took a breath and looked at the stairs, he could see nothing to say if someone had gone up there or not. He looked at the door to the cellar and came up blank again. The doctor shook himself and tried again, it couldn't be that hard he just had to find something that was out of- _the dust! _The handle of the door had dust at one end but not and the other where it had been opened. John smiled as he crept forward and slowly opened the door, silently praying that it wouldn't creak.

The next challenge was the steps, he could take them quickly and be sure to alert everyone in the nearby area or he could take them slowly in the hope that though he was heard, the people would think it was just the house creaking or something. John decided to opt for the cautious method, he placed his gun where it could be easily grabbed and crept down the steps, taking them one at a time. Each footstep was met with a low groaning creak as the old wooden stairs complained under his weight. The first time, John winced but every step afterwards, he just paused and prayed that his movements had gone unnoticed.

At the bottom of the steps, John crouched against the wall and peered around the corner. In the dim light, he could make out what looked like a figure sat in an old-style dining room chair. One with a wooden back.  
"-you think I would just let you get away with it?" An unknown male voice asked threateningly. The doctor pressed closer to the wall, straining to listen in to the conversation.  
"I have no idea what you're talking about." The figure in the chair growled, his voice rasping.  
"Tell me where you hid it." The man standing demanded. A haunting laugh escaped the man in the chair. A man, John realised, who had been bound to the piece furniture with what appeared to be heavy duty rope.  
"Hid what?" The figure sniggered. "I have no idea what you're talking about." In a fit of rage the man standing raised a gun and a shot fired.

John walked out from his hiding place as the man fell to the floor. He held his gun at the man in the chair, silently praying that he'd shot the right man.  
"Jim. Thank God." The figure in the chair sighed. John came into the his line of vision and he froze.  
"Who are you?" He asked. The doctor tried a smile.  
"The man in possession of Jim's phone." He replied, the barrel of his gun aimed squarely at the man's forehead. "Now, who the hell are you and what's going on?" For a moment, it looked as though the man wasn't going to say anything but then his eyes widened.  
"Oh God. It's you." He gasped. "You're Moriarty's… thing. His…" John had to laugh.  
"I think I'm a bit more than a thing." He answered. "But yes, you're right. Now who are you?"  
"Victor. Long term client." The man introduced. "And currently without feeling in my arms and legs, so if you wouldn't mind…" He gestured to the rope surrounding his shoulders, waist, wrists, knees and ankles. Someone really didn't want him to leave.  
"I'm John, by the way." The doctor hummed as he set to work on the bonds.

* * *

Once John had untied the man, he tried to stand up. His legs seemed to fail him as his knee cracked against the concrete floor, breaking his fall. Victor hissed in pain and John helped him stand again, this time keeping hold until he was sure that the man's legs would support his weight. The brunette had a strong square jaw but there was a softness there, one which came from a privileged background. John couldn't tell any more about this bloke, he would have to find out the old fashioned way but now was not the time.  
"I'll walk you home." He offered, though his tone didn't allow Victor the chance to refuse. "After all, we may encounter some more resistance. With that, he pulled the man to the steps and began to climb, looking down to make sure he didn't trip over in the darkness. Two shadows cast across the stairs from the light at the top. _Light? _John had closed the door when he had entered, there shouldn't be any light… With a feeling of sudden dread, John slowly raised his head to look up at the entrance to the cellar.

Waiting for them at the top of the stairs were two dark haired, wild eyed men who were looking particularly angry. John bit his lip and signalled for Victor to stand behind him. The man did without question.  
"Victor." Moriarty purred sweetly. "How are you? Got yourself in trouble again, I see. Well isn't it _lucky _that someone was there to save you. What a _shame_ it would be if something were to happen to you on your way home." Victor's breath hitched but before he could say anything, John butt in.  
"Yes, that would be a shame. So to make sure that nothing happens, I'm going to walk him home. And I will shoot _anyone _who decides to attack." Before anyone could reply, John grabbed Victor by the sleeve and dragged him passed the two shocked genii.

* * *

Outside, Victor bent his mouth to John's ear.  
"I think my eyes went a bit funny." He said lowly. "Because the tall bloke looked like Holmes." The doctor laughed.  
"Your eyes are working just fine." He answered, still walking. Victor stopped and John turned to face him. The brunette looked very much like a robot trying to compute something.  
"You mean that was Holmes, they were standing right next to each other… They… But… What?"  
"Yeh, it's amazing what two obsessive, possessive genii will do for love." John hummed, grabbing Victors sleeve again and pulling him along. "I have no idea where you live so it's in our best interest if you lead and I look out for any gunmen."

For the rest of the walk, Victor was trying to understand what John had told him but it was just too farfetched for him to allow. Jim Moriarty was not a man held by love, he was not a man held by anything. He went where he pleased and did whatever the hell he wanted. Money was no object, people were no object and love was definitely no object. So where did that leave this John fellow? And why was Holmes there? What were his ties to John? He looked mightily pissed, they both did. But they simply let them pass. Come to think of it, John didn't cower from them, he looked them both dead in the eye. Victor shivered. A man who could stare down the world's only consulting criminal was a man to be reckoned with.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN- **Exams are looming. I don't like this feeling, the feeling that I should be studying... Oh well, here's your update. On time again! Must be some kind of record for me.  
Enjoy  
B  
x

* * *

John followed Jim's client into a swanky hotel and, unsurprisingly, they took the elevator to the top floor which held the penthouse suite. A suite which would cost about a years' salary for two nights.  
"I don't stay in one place for very long." Victor explained in the elevator ride up. "But I like to have certain comforts when I can." John nodded as the lift doors opened and they stepped out. In front of them was one solitary door with a slot for a key card. Victor produced a thin metal sheet and passed it across the sensor in one fluid movement. The slot beeped once then the lock clicked open and the door swung wide.

The soldier went inside first, gun raised.  
"I don't think this is necessary." Victor called. "No one can get in here without a key and I have the only one. They replace the entire lock after each visitor has left for the last time." John glared at him and he shut up, leaving the doctor to check each of the seven spacious rooms which joined to the central space with a beautiful view out into the city. While he did so, Victor made his way into the kitchen area and prepared two tumbler glasses and a bottle of scotch, setting them out of the glass table in the central area before relaxing into one of three white leather sofas.

Once satisfied, John joined him, but he didn't sit down.  
"Right, well don't answer the door to anyone and you should be fine." He said, switching the safety on his gun and putting it in the concealed holster he'd fastened to his waistband. The doctor then made to leave but was stopped by the other males' voice.  
"Come on, stay for a while. I'm sure there's nothing pressing you to leave so soon. Have a drink." He offered, holding out a half filled glass of scotch whiskey. John mulled over the idea silently, he really should get back before his two idiot genii wrecked the city… but then again, he hadn't been able to just relax and have a drink in such a long time. Relaxation won out and John backtracked to sit on the sofa beside Victor.

* * *

Two hours and twenty seven minutes later, there came a knock at the door. John raised his head, all hints of tipsiness suddenly gone as he scanned for possible exits. Penthouse suites weren't really suited for escaping. Victor sluggishly got to his feet, going to open the door. The soldier stopped him by gripping his wrist and yanking him back down onto the sofa. Victor's hands shook wildly, trying hard not to spill his drink on the white furniture. He managed, but only just and the liquid spilled out onto the wooden flooring.  
"You should be drunker than you are." Victor stated glassily. It was true that the whiskey was some strong stuff and three glasses should be enough to make anyone tipsy. Which was why John hadn't been drinking it. Though he desperately wanted a drink, John knew better that to accept drinks from strangers, especially in unfamiliar territory. With the added threats on top it was just not worth even considering. Instead, John had had the first half a glass and pretended after that. Victor had already had two, and by the looks of it, he wasn't good at holding his drink, so he didn't notice the level of whiskey in the glass never lowering.

John made his way to the door carefully, pulling his gun out of the holster again. When he got to the door, the doctor peered through the keyhole. There was a small eye to look through but that was a clear target for a gun so he checked through the only other hole in the door. John couldn't see the face of the visitor from the angle but that didn't matter, he didn't need to see a face to know the man. Who else bought such stupidly expensive Westwood suits?  
"What do you want?" John hollered, determined not to open the door until he absolutely had to.  
"Now Johnny, be a dear and open this door. It's rude to keep a guest waiting outside." The criminal replied in a drawl.  
"Not a chance. I don't trust you not to kill him." The soldier answered.  
"But why would I do that, Johnny? Victim is my best customer!"  
"Yes and he also put me in danger in your eyes. A danger that you weren't in control of. That's probably something punishable by death."John answered.

Silence spoke louder than any words could have.  
"Fine. I won't end his pathetic life, now let me in." The sweetness had disappeared completely, leaving boiling rage in its place. John knew he couldn't keep the door closed much longer. If the clicking was anything to go by, Moriarty was overriding the systems lock on the door. The doctor sighed and turned the handle, knowing that this could only go badly.

With one final look at the back of Victor's head, John opened the door, standing in the entranceway so that no one could get by. Moriarty stood with his arms folded.  
"Shirley is not impressed with you." He stated scoldingly, like a parent telling off a naughty child. "He wants you to go home now." The doctor held firm.  
"And that would conveniently leave you alone with Victor, wouldn't it?" He answered, leaning against the doorframe to block Jim's client from view. The criminal's lip curled up in a snarl.  
"I will not tell you again." Moriarty growled threateningly. "Go home."  
"Make me."

Why did he have to antagonise the man? John thought to himself as he was forced back by a strong hand round his throat. Victor realised something was happening behind him and turned around to see John getting flung into the white sofa opposite.  
"Stay." Jim ordered before turning to his client. "You have three minutes to explain why I shouldn't end you." Victor gulped.  
"Uhh…" His alcohol addled brain refused to engage.  
"Two minutes, fifty seconds." Jim drawled, checking his watch. Victor opened his mouth and closed it again several times.  
"I…" He tried again.  
"Two minutes, thirty seconds."  
"I'm your best client?"  
"Two minutes, twenty seconds."  
"I'm entertaining?"  
"Deary me, not doing very well are you?" Jim sighed. "Two minutes, ten seconds."

"How about this then." John said. "I won't speak to or acknowledge you for the foreseeable future, perhaps forever." Jim spun around, confused.  
"What will that achieve?" He snapped. "I do what I want to you when I want, you never get a say in it anyway." John shrugged and turned his attention to the view. Moriarty glared at Victim, an apt name for a man who never seemed to stay out of trouble. Jim knew exactly what John's threat would achieve; him fighting and arguing was half the fun so if he didn't do it any more then it would be like fucking a ragdoll. Utterly pointless. Not only that but John would still talk to Sherlock, he'd be the only one out of the two to get attention. Jim would be reduced to a ghost, someone in the shadows. He'd worked had to bring himself into the spotlight, being forced back out again would be brutal. Jim's jaw set firm as he glared at the doctor looking out of the window.  
"Fine. We'll go." He hissed. John slowly turned his head.  
"You sure?" He asked. "You can go berserk if you wish. Though I'm not sure if red would suit the décor…" Moriarty strided across and lifted the soldier from his seat by the scruff of the neck.  
"We're leaving." He growled.

Perhaps it was the small amount of whiskey he had consumed, or maybe he was still on an adrenaline high but John was damned if he was going to let the arrogant bastard show him up in front of his client. He'd lost too much to be seen as a coward now.  
"No. Here's what we are going to do. You are going to walk out of that door alone and go back to the flat, without-and I'm being very clear about this- _without _blowing anything up. You are going to go back into a residence that you own of your choosing, or Baker Street, and there you can do whatever you like. As long as it doesn't include blowing anything up, killing someone or causing permanent injury." As he spoke, the doctor reeled off the three rules. "Now I, I am going to stay here for a bit, have a drink, and then I will go home either tonight or tomorrow morning, depending on my ability to walk."

Moriarty stared. It was as though his mind had been disconnected, even the anger had disappeared, for the time being anyway. When the wires reconnected, the result was not all that elegant.  
"W-what!?" He spluttered. John grabbed him by the lapels of his suit and dragged him to the door, hauling him out and slamming the door behind him. Usually, the doctor wouldn't dream of doing something so… well, so violent. Not against the criminal mastermind. But he was a little annoyed and slightly inebriated and this was probably the only chance he was going to get to boss the man about. When angry footsteps pounded away from the door, John let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in.  
"You've got balls, John." Victor slurred, his head lolling on the back of the chair. "Some serious balls."

* * *

Jim stormed down the street, his car followed him at a safe distance, Jeeves knew better than to try to pick him up when he was in this kind of murderous mood, they had lost several cars to such… moods. _How dare he, _the criminal fumed as his expensive shoes pounded the concrete pavement, _how _dare _he! That doctor. If he weren't… I would murder him, I would slice his vocal cords, I would empty his veins of blood, I would sever every muscle from his body. _Something crunched and it took Jim a moment to realise that he had crushed his phone in his grasp. The consulting criminal swore vividly and altered his course to call in at the nearest phone store. As much as he loathed to be around the plebeian population, his phone was a commodity for which he could not wait two to five days for a new replacement.

The store knew him by face, they always kept a stash of his exact model of phone- one which was not available to the normal customer, it was specially designed. Many rumours followed the strange, usually angry man, some say that he invented the phone model itself, others that he stole the designs. There were even some that said he knew government secrets and his silence was bought with top secret technology. The man barged past the queue of people, who though disgruntled seem to realise the danger they were in so stayed quiet, and placed the cracked phone on the desk. Serene, the worker who was unfortunately situated behind the desk, fumbled as she placed the new device beside the broken one.  
"Would you like me to switch the sim card?" She asked.  
"Do I look like an imbecile?" Jim snarled, snatching the phone and quickly replaced the small card himself. "Perhaps this is a task too difficult for an amoeba such as yourself, but destroy that phone. Preferably by incineration." Then he stormed back out, leaving a feel of utter desolation in his wake.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN- **Another chapter up on time, I really don't know how I'm doing this, it has to be the first time since I started that I've managed to keep to a time scale. As always, let me know what you think.  
Enjoy  
B  
x

* * *

The doctor stretched languidly, creasing the white sofa beneath him. A glance at the clock told him that it was coming up to midnight. Victor was snoring quietly, his neck in a position which looked like it should be broken. He twitched slightly, eyes flickering and repositioned, his head lolling to the other side, landing at an equally odd angle. John sighed and hoisted himself from the exceptionally nice sofa, rolling his stiff shoulder. He hadn't had much to drink really, not enough to stop him from going home. The doctor moved over to where Victor lay and positioned him in a way which would not leave him with severe joint pain when he woke then went in search of a blanket.

With Victor under the cover of a thick blue blanket, John decided that he should probably go home, he hadn't heard any explosions but nor had he turned the news on. For all he knew, Jim could have over thrown a small country or something. Well that hadn't been one of the rules. John grabbed a piece of paper and hunted for a pen that worked. When he found one, he wrote a quick note for Victor, explaining that he was going home and leaving his number, should the man decide he wants to go for a pint somewhere. After that, John grabbed his, well Jim's, jacket and left.

* * *

The London air was chilly, an exceptionally clear night letting the trapped heat escape into the void of space. Streetlamps cast spotlights of yellow hue onto the cracked pavement. John walked quickly, his hands shoved in the jacket pockets to try and keep them warm. His breath fogged in front of him as he turned onto the next street, now only a few blocks from Baker Street. Even in the big city, the London cabs were proving evasive. Still, John was grateful for the walk, it meant he had time to prepare to face Sherlock. Jim coming to him was good, because it meant he could blow off at the man and change the reason for the criminal's wrath. Sherlock was a different story; and one which John could not see ending well.

A shadow shot across the soldier's peripheral vision and the man felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He kept walking as to not alert his tail to the fact that he had been noticed. The soldier had several plans to use when he had a tail; a few that were given to him by Sherlock, a couple he learned by evading Jim but most were a result of Afghanistan. More importantly, the hospital afterwards. He held the record for the longest time on the run from the hospital staff. He continued on, not looking back and giving himself away. His gun was in his waistband but he couldn't reach it now without seeming suspicious.

John took a wrong turn, deciding that he wouldn't lead this man to Sherlock. Not when he couldn't warn anyone first. He wound his way through the streets, keeping an eye out for a taxi cab or even a move vehicle, just something he could escape through. He took another turn, risking a glance behind him but seeing nothing. After a moment, John realised that he had taken a turn that lead to a dead end. He silently kicked himself and set about looking for an escape route. He didn't get far. Knowing that his assailant was right on top of him, the soldier pulled his gun. A sharp pinprick was the last thing he felt.

* * *

When he returned to his senses, John found himself in a small, windowless room. Alone. He had a strange taste in his mouth and he ached everywhere. The soldier stopped himself from panicking by sheer will, instead inspecting the door. It was strong and cold to the touch, with no handle. There was no way of using it from inside. The soldier looked round for another exit but all that greeted him was stone walls. Nothing anywhere. The temperature was dropping slowly, only just fast enough for him to notice. John's skin prickled as his heart rate spiked wildly. Despite his best efforts, the panic bubbled. He could only see grey, grey wall, grey ceiling and grey floor. The door was locked tight. John felt he knew who was behind this little prank.  
"This isn't funny, Jim." John shouted to the walls. "Let me out right now." Only silence answered him.

John resolved to sit and wait. Jim wouldn't keep him locked up in here in silence forever; Sherlock wouldn't allow it. In fact, they were probably bickering right outside the door. When he strained his ears, the doctor fancied he could hear them both but he knew it was just his imagination.  
"Come on Jim, I'm sorry okay? I shouldn't have answered your phone but he needed help, I wasn't going to just let him die. You'd probably be pissed off if I let that happen too, I couldn't win." He called. Jim would speak back when he tried to justify himself, the man always did.

_Silence. _John's ribcage fluttered as the hairs on the back of his neck rose again. Jim should have answered by now, would have answered. So who was holding him captive? Mycroft? No, he wouldn't. Not after the last time... The soldier tried to keep a grip on the panic but he couldn't hold on for long and soon his chest was tightening as his mind fell back into blocked memories.

A fuzzy figure came into view, moving in slow precise movements around the doctor.  
_John Watson, I had hoped you'd be the one who would save my brother.  
_"I never promised anything!" John shouted at the elder Holmes brother who paced the cell. Somewhere in his head, John knew this wasn't real but that thought was lost in the swell of fear and anger. "Sherlock didn't need saving anyway!"  
_You had been such a good influence.  
_"Stop." The doctor whispered to himself, to his head. He didn't want this; he didn't want to go through any of this again.  
_Now look at the mess you find yourself in._  
John grabbed his hair, pulling hard to try and get out of this nightmare but the image of Mycroft Holmes remained, sinister and overpowering.  
_You worm your way into my brothers heart-  
_"I didn't!"  
_-then you corrupt him.  
_"No. No I didn't. I swear I didn't." John couldn't breathe, his chest felt too tight. No air was reaching his lungs. He was suffocating. He could feel his bones rumbling, the walls were cracking around him. A loud noise filled his ears but the booming voice of Mycroft sliced through.  
_I'm going to keep you. Keep you so I know exactly where you are and that you can't do any more damage to him ever again.  
_His vision was swimming; cracks in the walls became gaping holes. John fell, the whole world tilted and suddenly blacked out.

* * *

When it came to one John Watson, Sherlock Holmes was not a patient man. He liked John to be where he could contact him at all times, to be within reach at all times and was not in the habit of waiting for this should John become… AWOL. He had waited this long because Jim had stormed off to the residence of that posh, small time criminal who had dragged John into danger; and Moriarty had decided not to allow his enemy along for the ride. Sherlock could have tailed him, easily, but in the end he knew that Moriarty had a plan and if he went as well then they would both have a plan. Their plans didn't usually mix well together, and John often escaped in the fallout.

Moriarty returned, holding a brand new phone but without the presence of Dr Watson. Sherlock glared at him, awaiting what was going to be the best excuse in the history of the world. Or the world was going to be short of one mass-murdering psychopath. Jim looked equally pissed off as he plonked himself down in John's chair.  
"He kicked me out." The criminal stated. "He kicked me out of that damned penthouse and order me to go home."  
"And you sat there and took it?" Sherlock sneered. Moriarty flicked out his favourite bloodletting knife, lazily directing it in the direction of the detective.  
"I did not expect him to be so forceful. It was as though he has an alternate personality." Jim huffed.  
"Well yes, that will be the soldier." Sherlock stated, using the voice he reserved for the rest of the population when they were being particularly dim.  
"Yes, yes, I know that." Jim snapped. "I just thought the _soldier _had gone into hiding. Your brother did a terribly good job of scaring him away."

The consulting criminal had stalked to the bedroom soon after the exchange, dragging his knife across the walls of the flat, scarring down to the plasterboard and leaving scraps of wallpaper hanging haggardly. Sherlock had turned his attention to the door. John would be making his own way home. That meant that he either be home just gone one, or he would be back in reasonable hours. As he was at a strangers house and there for the first time, so he probably wouldn't spend the night. Meaning that it was most probable that he would be back just after midnight. And Sherlock was going to make sure he was there when John Watson walked through that door.

* * *

One thirty am. No Watson. Sherlock frowned, wondering if he had misread his doctor. No, his predictions had never been wrong before. John wouldn't spend the night in a strangers house, not even to annoy his flatmates. He would feel like he was using people and that was something that the doctor just didn't do. The detective felt the buzz of a mystery, whirring around his mind palace. He gracefully folded himself into a seated thinking position on the floor, facing the door just in case the doctor did happen to walk in.

And that was how Moriarty found his intellectual enemy when he appeared from the bedroom some seven hours later. He offered the flat a quick scan and sighed.  
"Where's John?" The anger had subsided somewhat; at the expense of the bed sheets, the mattress, a glass, and several items of clothing.  
"That is what I'm trying to attain." Sherlock replied, his voice croaky. "He should have been back seven hours, three minutes and twenty seconds ago. I may have misjudged his resolve to stay at the penthouse, I have been trying to factor in this client's considerable wealth but I don't have enough data on John's interactions with those who flaunt their wealth to make a clear judgment." Jim nodded, coming to the same conclusions himself.  
"So what's the other option?" He asked. Sherlock shot him a sideways glance.  
"I think you know." He answered.

The criminal groaned, the other option was a kidnapping. Well there were plenty of other options (such as John running off, or someone having a grudge against the doctor himself) but they were too unlikely to consider when faced with the fact that he was essentially a good man and he was now a known associative of both the world's only consulting detective and the world's only consulting criminal. The kidnapper would most likely be someone who had a grudge against one of them. Either that or it was Mycroft sticking his nose in again but this didn't quite fit his style somehow.

So a grudge then, the list was a large one as between them; he and Sherlock had angered most of the world at some point or other. Jim scowled as he realised he was no closer to finding out where John was. He pulled out his mobile opened up his CCTV monitoring system, then took Sherlock's phone and set about hacking the government's piss-poor network security. With both sets of CCTV, they should have a full view of London. More than enough to plot where, and when, John had disappeared.


End file.
